


on the porch with a shotgun

by Jelly



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, M/M, also gymnastics, boarding school rayllum, domestic Ruthari, this is a convoluted mess of an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: It’s a standard injury in gymnastics. The hands and wrists aren’t built to take weight like that, but handstands and backflips and vaults and bars are all part and parcel of it, and pushing your body to its absolute limit is the point. They say you’re not a real athlete until you’ve put yourself out of commission at least once, and it’s not like Runaan’s one to talk, but it’s still concerning, and he doesn’t like the look of the leftover sports tape on Rayla's skin."What happened to your wrists?" he asks.“Nothing," says Rayla. "They're fine. I just made Callum strap them before practise on Thursday night just to be safe.”Runaan shoots her a sidelong glance. “Callum?”Rayla shoots one back. “Yeah,” she says carefully. “He’s a friend."
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 218





	on the porch with a shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> 61(a???) extended, as per popular request.

on the porch with a shotgun

The first time, it’s just tape residue. Runaan catches the familiar zig-zag of it around Rayla’s wrists when she comes to visit one weekend in January. 

It’s a standard injury in gymnastics. The hands and wrists aren’t built to take weight like that, but handstands and backflips and vaults and bars are all part and parcel of it, and pushing your body to its absolute limit is the point. They say you’re not a real athlete until you’ve put yourself out of commission at least once, and it’s not like Runaan’s one to talk, but it’s still concerning, and he doesn’t like the look of the leftover tape on her skin.

It's Saturday morning. She's jogging out of Ithil Station with her backpack slung over her shoulder and her eyes shining in the winter sun, pleased to be visiting after two weeks of sleeping in Spire Academy’s lumpy dormitory beds. She’s conscious of it, and she tugs the sleeves of her jumper all the way to the tips of her fingers in an effort to hide it, but Runaan’s faster than that, and she’s a fool to try.

"What happened to your wrists?" he asks.

"Well, hello to you too," sneers Rayla. Her smile gives way to a sardonic little smirk but the eagerness in it isn't lost. "This is the first time I’ve had time to visit in ages and  _ that's  _ how you greet me?"

Runaan lets out a snort at that. "You're lucky I come to pick you up at all," he drawls, but his facade drops as she settles in the passenger seat. "It's good to see you, Little Blade."

Rayla chuckles. "It's good to see you too. Thanks for coming to get me. You didn’t have to."

“And bear your mother’s wrath for making you take the bus? No thank you.” Runaan scoffs at her, but his lips twitch upwards a little too, as she climbs into the car. “Well?” he prods. “What happened?”

Rayla rolls her eyes, but to her credit, she doesn’t lie about it. Much. She pulls her sleeves back to let him see. The residue is dark and ominous against the alabaster of her skin. “They're fine,” she says, flexing her wrist first this way, and then that. “See? It’s nothing to worry about. I just made Callum strap them before practise on Thursday night just to be safe.”

Runaan shoots her a sidelong glance. “Callum?”

Rayla shoots one back. “Yeah,” she says carefully. “He’s a friend. Transferred in from Katolis last semester. I’ve mentioned him.”

She has. Runaan recognizes the name from the times she’s called to let him and Ethari know how she’s going. He’s pretty familiar with most of the recurring characters in her stories, but this one—this  _ Callum _ —is becoming increasingly prominent and he’s starting to wonder if there’s something he should know. He purses his lips and decides to leave it for later. “If you’ve had to tape them, they’re not  _ fine _ , are they?” he says finally, frowning at her wrists again. “What have you done?”

Rayla groans at him. “It’s  _ nothing,  _ Runaan,” she insists. “They’re just a little sore. Callum thinks it’s probably just, like, tendonitis or something. All this is preventative and you should be glad I’m making the effort at all.”

“Have you seen someone about it?”

“Why would I need to see someone about something I can fix myself? A little ice and some aspirin and it’s all fine.” She wriggles her hands around just to prove her point and there’s no grimace, no hesitation, no waver in her grin. If they’re still bothering her, she does a good job at hiding it. 

Runaan presses his lips together and sighs. He doesn’t believe her. Not really. He and she are  _ far _ too alike for him to just  _ let it go _ that easily. He was the same once, and the memory of tape around his own wrists feels fresh in his mind.

She waves him off before he can argue. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” she says. “I’d tell you if it was anything to be concerned about. My wrists are fine. I promise.”

Runaan breathes in and hopes that she’s right.

  
  


He mentions it to Ethari later because he’s concerned and he’s within his rights to be. He’s her uncle, and he’d made a promise to her parents to watch out for her while she’s so far from home. 

“Well, I’m not  _ so _ surprised,” says Ethari. Rayla’s out back with Luna, their shadowpaw, and they can hear her chattering to her as she brushes the knots out of her mane. “She takes after  _ you _ , after all.” He smirks at Runaan over his tea. “At least we know Callum’s looking after her.”

Runaan pauses there, because Rayla’s been at his house for ten minutes and already, this  _ Callum _ kid feels like a household name. He wrinkles his nose. “Who’s this  _ Callum _ person she keeps mentioning? Have we met him?”

Ethari’s smirk widens. “Oh,” he says, amused. “You mean you haven’t figured it out?”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

Ethari breathes in, long and patient and obviously entertained, before he sets down his teacup and leans back in his chair. “A boy,” he says lightly. “They share a lot of the same classes. She was the one who showed him around when he first transferred in. They’ve been  _ very _ good friends ever since.”

Runaan narrows his eyes. There’s something about the way Ethari says it that he doesn’t  _ quite  _ like, although he’s not sure what, at first. The implication, perhaps?  _ Very good friends _ sounds ominous. It’s almost like— 

He frowns. “They’re  _ friends,  _ you say?”

“Yep.”

“... _ Just _ friends?”

Ethari barks out a laugh. “That’s what she says, but I think it’s only a matter of time before that becomes plainly untrue.”

Runaan blinks. His teaspoon against his mug when he drops it. His shoulders tense. “I’m sorry,  _ what?”  _ he hisses. “Is he her  _ boyfriend?” _

“Not yet, weren’t you listening?” Ethari rolls his eyes and stifles a laugh in a slice of moonberry surprise. “It’s pretty clear that they like each other, though. I don’t imagine it’ll be too long before she brings him home.”

Runaan sputters. It feels like his brain’s just crashed, and the concept of Rayla  _ dating _ is caught between the gears as it tries to reboot. “I—I—”

“Come off it, Runaan,” says Ethari. He gives him a warning  _ look _ over his tea like he’s daring him to argue. “You’re being ridiculous. They’re not even  _ together _ yet, and when—yes,  _ when _ —they decide to stop beating around the bush, you’re  _ not _ to interfere. Rayla really likes this boy and you  _ won’t _ scare him off.”

“But—” Runaan shakes his head. “She’s so  _ young.” _

“She’s exactly the right age.”

“What about—she should be focussing on her  _ gymnastics _ —”

“She is. He’s helping her, even. And, in any case, what Rayla decides she wants to focus isn’t  _ your _ decision to make to begin with.”

“I—that’s not the  _ point,  _ Ethari,” scowls Runaan. “She’s  _ fifteen _ —”

“The same age you and I were when we started all this, you mean?” Ethari gives him a pointed stare and his wedding ring winks in the kitchen light. “Stay out of it,” he warns. “You don’t get to decide if or when or whom Rayla dates. Honestly, you should be grateful. Callum seems nice, and he’s obviously looking out for her if  _ he’s _ the one insisting she strap her wrists. You, of all people, should understand the significance of  _ that. _ ” 

Runaan flounders for a minute. Rayla’s laugh echoes outside and he snaps his mouth shut and stares into the murky depths of his tea at a loss. He thinks of his own days at the academy. He thinks of the tape around his own wrists from all those years ago. 

He has the decency not to argue.

  
  


The next time Rayla visits, the tape is fresh.

Runaan zeroes in on it the second she climbs into the car because she’s trying too hard to look nonchalant about the way the oversized sleeves of her jacket hang over her knuckles. She can try all she likes, but there’s no mistaking the stiffness in her fingers and the awkward jerky motion of hands as she buckles herself in. He narrows his eyes. “Is that still preventative?”

Rayla bristles at him. “Weird variation of  _ good morning, _ but okay.”

Runaan ignores her. “Have you been going to practise with those?”

“Yeah, obviously,” she grumbles, slumping in the passenger seat like a petulant child. “We’ve got a meet next weekend, I’m not about to let up now because of a little wrist pain. Besides, they’re  _ fine. _ ”

“If they hurt, they’re not  _ fine _ , are they?” Runaan shoots her a sidelong glare as he eases the car out of the Ithil Station car park. It’s a bit gloomy today. Thunder rumbles overhead when they pull onto the road. “Tell me you’ve had the school nurse look at them,  _ at least.” _

Rayla shifts in her seat and turtles just slightly into the collar of her jacket. It looks big on her—or perhaps it’s just the way she’s hunched over with her arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. “I’ll get them checked out  _ after _ the meet.”

_ “Rayla.” _

_ “What?” _ she snarls. “If she’s anything like  _ you _ , she’ll overreact and tell me not to compete, and I’m not  _ not  _ competing. They’re fine anyway. They don’t even hurt today.”

“Why are they strapped then?”

Rayla wrinkles her nose. “Callum insisted,” she mutters shortly. She pulls one sleeve back tentatively to examine his handiwork and tests the mobility of her wrist. Her eyes soften. “He did a good job.”

For a second, Runaan’s grip around the steering wheel tightens. He doesn’t like the way she looks at it. It’s too fond. Too enamoured. Too  _ in love.  _ He sucks in a breath. “You talk about him a lot,” he says. His voice sounds strangled in his own ears, and even Rayla knits her brow together and frowns at him for the way he says it. 

“Yeah,” she says. “We’re friends.”

He swallows. “Is that all?”

There’s a pause. The radio fills the silence with the nonsense talk of its talk show hosts. Rayla’s cheeks grow pink.

“Yeah,” she says shortly, glancing away. “What else would we be?”

Runaan presses his lips together tightly and considers his next words with care. “I just—er—I wondered,” he says, pretending it’s fine. It  _ is _ fine, he reminds himself, because he has no say and he’s not the most keen to invoke the wrath of a teenaged gymnast  _ and _ his husband. “You just seem… fond. Of him. I guess.”

“We’re just friends,” says Rayla quickly. 

Runaan glances at the tape. The picture flashes in his mind before he can stop it: Rayla sitting before some faceless boy with her hands in his as he presses the strapping tape lightly onto her skin. Dimly, he remembers the intimacy of it; the lightness of fingers against his wrist; the goosebumps that blossomed beneath the touch. He very pointedly doesn’t think about the things that happened after.

“Just friends?” he says at last, clinging to the hope that it might be true.

“Yeah,” says Rayla, staring red-faced at her bag in the footwell. “Just friends.”

  
  


“Stop it, Runaan,” says Ethari. His frown is stern and unimpressed. If he were anyone else, Runaan might think he was being scolded. “I can see you spiralling. It’s none of your business whether she starts dating or not.”

“Am I wrong to be concerned?” Runaan lets out a huff and folds his arms petulantly across his chest. Rayla is out with Luna again. She’d said something about taking her for a ride around the neighbourhood, and that’s almost a relief to Runaan because it gives him the chance to…  _ discuss _ his findings with Ethari. “She’s my  _ niece.  _ I have the right to  _ know _ .”

“She’s my niece too,” Ethari points out. “And  _ no,  _ you don’t. Lain doesn’t even know and he’s her  _ father.  _ If she chooses to tell either of us properly, that’s up to her.”

“But what if—”

“Mm-mm.” Ethari holds up a hand. “If you can’t be mature about this, we’re not going to talk about it.”

“But—”

_ “Runaan.” _

Runaan sighs and relents. He spots Rayla riding back up the drive on Luna through the kitchen window and grimaces inwardly at his tea. “I just don’t want her to get hurt,” he grumbles. “You know what teenage boys are like.”

“So I do,” says Ethari. “But I also know teenage boys can be gentle, and caring, and genuinely have her best interests at heart. And you know that too.”

Runaan sighs again because… well. He does know that. He’d probably be a lot worse for wear if it wasn’t for Ethari, and they were teenagers too, when all that started. He’s overreacting and he knows it. Rayla deserves the chance to find happiness like theirs too, and it’s unfair of him to get in the way of that for no other reason than because he doesn’t like the sound of a boy. 

He shakes his head in the end. “She’s still got tape on her wrists,” he comments grumpily.

Ethar  _ does _ frown at that. “I noticed,” he says. “She says it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” says Runaan. “Believe me.”

“I do.” Ethari wrinkles his nose and watches as Rayla leads Luna past the window. Her sleeve shifts. The tape is too dark to be inconspicuous. 

“She says Callum did it up for her.”

He half expects Ethari to snap at him for it, but Ethari only hums. “Good,” he says, shooting a sidelong glance at Runaan. “If she’s not going to look after herself, at least we can count on him to do it for her. I’d rather  _ not  _ watch history repeat itself.”

For all of Runaan’s complaints about this Callum boy, he’s got that going for him. He sips delicately at his tea and says nothing more.

  
  


The next time Rayla’s supposed to visit, she doesn’t. Runaan gets a call instead.

It’s three o’clock in the morning. He’s barely a person when he fumbles for the phone as it buzzes loudly against his nightstand. Ethari stirs in the bed next to him but, thankfully, doesn’t wake. Runaan groans.

The screen looks fuzzy to his eyes, and he  _ thinks _ he can make out Rayla’s number, but it’s hard to tell in the state that he’s in. He’s still mostly asleep, and it’s a miracle that he remembers how to swipe at the screen to answer it at all.

“Rayla?”

_ “Um—hi!”  _ says a voice. It’s male, and unfamiliar, and  _ definitely _ not Rayla. Runaan blinks the sleep away and frowns.  _ “Sorry to bother you. Is this—uh—is this Rayla’s uncle?” _

“One of them,” grumbles Runaan. He pulls the phone from his ear and stares at the number. Rayla’s name flashes underneath it, so he knows for sure that it’s hers. “Who is this?”

_ “Oh, sorry,”  _ says the voice.  _ “My name’s Callum. I’m a friend of Rayla’s from school? We’re just in a—uh—a bit of a pickle. She said not to call you, but it’s also… kind of an emergency. Nothing bad. Just. Um. An emergence. Of a sort.” _

Runaan frowns. Then he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and switches the lamp on. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is she okay?”

_ “She’s fine!”  _ The voice—Callum, he remembers—sounds a bit like he’s trying too hard to promise it.  _ “It’s just—uh—w-we kind of need a ride back to campus? And my family’s all the way in Katolis and I didn’t really know who else to call…” _

A ride back to campus? Runaan’s frown deepens. “Where are you, exactly?”

There’s a pause on the line. Callum coughs.  _ “Before I say anything else, let me just preface this again with the fact that she’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. There was just… an accident and… we’re in… the emergency room?” _

_ “What?” _ If Runaan wasn’t awake before, he’s certainly wide awake now. Beside him, Ethari stirs again and cracks an eye open, disgruntled. “Why? What happened?”

_ “She—uh—” _

_ “Did you call Runaan?” _

_ “Um—” _

_ “Callum! I told you not to!” _

Runaan squeezes his eyes shut because of  _ course _ this is happening, and of  _ course _ she’d be stubborn about it. He pulls the phone from his ear as the argument breaks out and sighs, especially as Ethari eases himself up.

“Wha’s happenin’?” he yawns.

Runaan scowls. “Rayla’s in the emergency room,” he grumbles, and, similarly, Ethari’s eyes widen with concern. “Kid. Callum. Sorry. Put Rayla on.”

The scuffle ceases immediately. And then—

_ “Runaan, it’s fine. Don’t worry.” _

“What a stupid thing to say after you’ve already been outed,” snaps Runaan. “What happened? Why are you in emergency?”

There’s a pause. A long one. It almost sounds like Rayla’s steeling herself for the lecture he knows he’s about to give her. Then, finally, she huffs.

_ “I hurt my wrist.” _

There it is. Runaan wishes he could say he was surprised but honestly, he’s not. They  _ are  _ too much alike. He should have known. 

_ “It’s nothing,” _ she says quickly, when he says nothing.  _ “The doctor said it was just a minor fracture. Don’t worry—” _

“Hush. I don’t want to hear it.” Runaan rubs a hand over his face and throws the covers off entirely. Ethari, who’s been listening the whole time, already has a jumper halfway over his head. “We’re coming. We’ll be there in a few.”

_ “Runaan, don’t—” _

“I said  _ hush,” _ he snaps. 

“Runaan.”

Right. Yeah. She probably doesn’t need his wrath on top of all of this. He breathes in. “You’re not in trouble,” he says shortly. “But we want an explanation and you  _ will _ give it to us when we get there. Do your teachers know you’re there?”

_ “They called the ambulance,”  _ offers Callum unhelpfully from the background, and Runaan swears under his breath. How badly had she hurt herself?

“We’re coming now,” he snaps. “Don’t move. We’re on our way.” He hangs up before either of them can argue about it and runs a hand through his hair. Ethari tosses him a jumper and is halfway out the door when Runaan finally gets his frustration under control.

“Well, we certainly saw that one coming,” huffs Ethari. In spite of everything, he smirks at his husband. “Like uncle, like niece, hm?”

Runaan scowls. Like uncle, like niece indeed.

  
  


Once upon a time, Runaan was a student at Spire too. They all were—him, Ethari, Lain, and Tiadrin. It’s where they met; where their friendship had formed; where their names are still carved into plaques in the academy trophy room. It’s Xadia’s premiere academy for arts and academics, and it’s one hour away from his and Ethari’s, and four hours away from Tiadrin and Lain’s.

There’s a lot of prestige attached to it, but it’s scholarship based, and there isn’t a single student there who’s there because of money. The kids who go are the best of the best, and Rayla belongs there the same as them. She’s had the makings of a gymnast since before she even knew how to walk, and Runaan had wondered, for the longest time, why Tiadrin and Lain had ever moved away to begin with when it was obvious from the get-go that any child of theirs would qualify for admission in a heartbeat.

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. Rayla’s there now. She’s fifteen and she’s brilliant. Better than he ever was for certain, and with the medals to prove it. But there’s a price to pay for all that, and Runaan knows it better than most.

There’s a dull, persistent ache in his joints these days that makes him feel older than he is. It’s in his knees for his near-perfect landings, and in his wrists and elbows for the limits he’d pushed his body beyond. He’d insisted they were fine then too. What was he, after all, if he wasn’t stubborn to a fault? It was only after Ethari had noticed the way he’d wring his hands after some of their exams that he’d made the effort to do something about it.

“You need to start strapping them,” Ethari had said. “If you’re not careful, you’ll put yourself out of commission.”

Runaan’d snorted, hiding his flush in the shake of his head. “No, I won’t,” he said. “And I’ll thank you not to imply I’d ever land wrong.”

Ethari had laughed at that. It was lunch time. The cafeteria was busy and Tiadrin and Lain had left their bags with them while they lined up at the canteen. Lain’s tape was sticking out of his bag. “You’ll  _ thank me  _ when you  _ do _ and you don’t hurt yourself,” Ethari had sneered, snatching at it, and then at Runaan’s wrists. “Hold still. Don’t complain.”

Runaan hadn’t—both because Ethari was right, and because his voice had left him the moment Ethari’s fingers touched his skin. 

They weren’t together then. Not yet. But Lain and Tiadrin, and he thinks even Ethari, had it all figured it out long before he did, and it wasn’t until one very specific meet that he’d figured it out himself.

He was fifteen. Ethari was in the changing rooms with him, strapping his wrists with deft, practised fingers. Runaan’s face felt hot as his touch drifted over his skin. 

“Swear to me you’ll see a doctor after this,” Ethari said.

Runaan had rolled his eyes. “They’re fine, Ethari. If they’re sore after this, okay, but it’s really nothing to worry about.” (It was). “I’ll be fine.” (He wasn’t).

“So you say, but it won’t stop me from worrying.” Ethari pressed down the final length of tape, but he hesitated before he pulled away. The whole time, Runaan’d been doing his best to ignore the butterflies fluttering away in his stomach—nerves, he’d convinced himself—but with Ethari’s face so close to his, he was certain,even then, that those nerves weren’t for the meet.

Runaan’s breath shuddered out. Ethari’s own brushed against his lips. Runaan’d swallowed.

Then Ethari pulled away, and the moment was over, just like that. “Good luck,” he said, getting up. “Be careful.”

And it was like the months of pretending things were fine burst forth in a rush, and Runaan seized his hand before he could get any further and crushed his lips against his. It was a hell of a kiss: exhilarating, electrifying, and meet be damned, it already felt like he’d already won.

These days, he makes jokes about how he should have waited until afterwards to kiss him, but he’s glad he didn’t, especially because the afterwards of that meet was spent in a hospital waiting room with Tiadrin’s ribbon wand splinted to his arm. But Ethari had waited with him the whole time, and even today, he’s grateful for it, and he doesn’t like imagining how much worse off he would be without him.

  
  


“Cube two,” the nurse at the triage desk says. “Just down the hall and to the left. Follow the green tape. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” says Ethari, and he beckons Runaan after him as he strides down the hall with his eyes set on the green line on the dull linoleum floor. It’d been a quick trip—mostly because there was no one else on the road, and Ethari has a lead foot—but it’d still taken something like thirty minutes to get here, which is far longer than Runaan had wanted to be. But they get to the bed labelled  _ C2 _ at last and— 

Ethari stops. Runaan crashes into his back, and he’s about to grumble about it when he spots Rayla, sitting on the edge of the cot with her fingers peeping out of a plaster cast, and a boy glued to her lips. 

Runaan’s jaw hits the floor. 

Ethari’s face splits into a grin. “Well, well,” he says, and Rayla tears herself from the kid—Callum, he would think—and blushes so deep, she looks the same shade as Callum’s scarf. “Just friends, hey?”

“I—uh—” Rayla sputters and hides her face behind her hand.

Callum, to his credit, only smiles awkwardly and offers them both a hand. “I—uh— _ sorry,” _ he offers. “I shouldn’t have—I’m Callum. It’s—uh—nice to meet you?”

“The pleasure’s ours,” says Ethari, shaking his hand cheerfully. “You can call me Ethari, and this—” He gestures vaguely at Runaan, who only just remembers to pick his jaw up— “is Runaan. It’s good to finally meet you. Rayla’s told us so much about you!”

“Have I?” croaks Rayla, still hiding behind her hand.

“Well,” says Ethari. “She’s told us enough.” He turns to Runaan and smirks. “Is everything all right, my love?”

Runaan stares. Swallows. Sucks in a breath, his throat tight. “Fine,” he says at last. “It’s—uh. Lovely to meet you.”

  
  


It’s a bit of an awkward night. Runaan signs a bunch of papers before the doctors release Rayla into his care. Ethari tries to get information out of Rayla. Callum sort of just stands awkwardly to the side, asking lamely how he can help. Rayla’s wrist, it turns out, isn’t the worst. She’d put too much speed into a handspring and her wrist had given out. The doctors say Callum’s handiwork is what saved her from a much nastier break. 

It’s closer to five in the morning when they finally,  _ finally  _ get everything sorted. Runaan climbs into the driver’s seat with Ethari in the front passenger seat and Rayla in the back—but Callum hesitates and swings his arms on the sidewalk, looking unsure about whether or not he’s welcome to go with them.

Well, at least he’s polite. Runaan’s lips twitch and he jerks his head. “Get in,” he says. “You need a ride too, don’t you?”

“Right. Um. Thank you.” Callum smiles wanly and does as he’s told.

They head home first, because neither Callum or Rayla have had any sleep, and Rayla’s supposed to be visiting today anyway. Runaan can take them back to Ithil Station for the train back to campus this evening, once they’re both fed and rested.

“So, er…” he begins, glancing at them both in the rearview mirror. “Are you…?”

“Yeah,” says Rayla, her eyes on her cast. “We’re… we’re a thing. It’s—it’s new. I didn’t tell you earlier because there was nothing to tell. We only got together…”

“Just now?” offers Callum. He’s blushing, but he’s grinning, and he looks at Rayla with so much light in his eyes that Runaan can't even find it in himself to be mad. Ethari was right. He’s a sweet kid. 

“Yeah,” says Rayla, bashful little smile on her face. She reaches across the middle seat with her bad hand to grip his fingers as best as she can in hers. “Thanks for coming to get us.” And then, after a moment, she adds, “You can say I told you so. About my wrist, I mean.”

“I think you’ve suffered enough,” says Ethari, smirking at her over his shoulder. “But we told you so.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. 

When they pull in, and Rayla and Ethari climb out of the car, Runaan breathes in once and turns in his seat before Callum can follow them. “Before we go,” he says, and Callum blanches. His hand rests on the door handle like he’s worried he needs to make a quick getaway, and Runaan almost laughs. 

“Runaan,” warns Ethari, but Runaan waves him off.

Callum swallows. “I—uh—”

“I wanted to thank you,” Runaan says.

Callum blinks. “For what?”

Runaan does chuckle at that. This isn’t… how he thought things would go. He thought he might be angrier. Scarier. The epitome of an overprotective father waiting on the porch with a shotgun, but he’s none of those things, and he looks Callum up and down with a smile that he thought he wouldn’t have. “For looking after Rayla,” he says. “She’s… a lot like me. In a bunch of ways. I needed someone to look out for me, too, when I was your age.”

“Oh,” says Callum. His shoulders sag in relief. “I mean. Anytime. She’s—she’s amazing, and she’s worth it, y’know? I just… wanted to make sure she’d be okay on the floor today. She was, in the end, but… you know.”

Runaan does know. He scoffs. “I trust you’ll keep looking after her, then?”

Callum nods like it’s not even a question. “Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world to him. “I mean. She doesn’t need it. But she’s… my friend before she is anything else and I couldn’t ever…  _ hurt _ her, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s too good for that.”

Runaan nods. He doesn’t know what else he expected. “Good,” he says, opening the car door. “I’m glad that’s cleared up. I hope you don’t mind me asking you to stay in the spare room tonight though.”

“Oh.” Callum turns scarlet. “Yeah. That’s—things aren’t like  _ that _ . This is all still super new so—uh—yeah. Thanks.” He grins stupidly and climbs out of the car before the air in here can get any stuffier, and Runaan chuckles to himself in spite of his preconceptions.

When Ethari asks about it later, Runaan just shakes his head. “I  _ was _ just overreacting,” he admits. “Callum’s… a good kid.”

“Good to know you see the light,” says Ethari, pressing a kiss into his cheek. “You’re not so worried anymore then?”

“No,” says Runaan, smiling fondly at him. “I think she’ll be just fine.”


End file.
